A Bizzare Dream

Last night I decided to sleep at my actual house on Hill Street, if only because my neighbors in Mount Adams are starting to wonder where I really do live, since I'm never there. Since Rumpke comes on Monday morning, I felt this could be a great opportunity to be seen among the commoners dragging my (empty) trash can to the curb at 6am.

So I spent the night alone in my bachelor pad, and I gotta tell you... it's creepy sleeping in a big house by yourself.

Maybe that's why I'm awake at this awful hour, typing another blog entry. You see, I had this strange dream that woke me up, and now I can't get back to sleep. So I fired up my trusty laptop to write down all of the details from my dream.

Bear with me. It's rather long, but I need some help interpreting it. I'm going to post it in three parts.

Spam Sade and the Case of the Missing Politician (Part 1)

It was a dark and stormy night. At least I dreamed it was. The dream was in black and white.

I was sitting in the chief’s chair. He was out of town on an investigation. When he’s out, I stop doing the coffee and typing and sit in his chair. I like the way it feels. Someday I hope to be sitting in the big chair for real and not just pretending.

There was a knock at the door.

I walked from the office into the other room that served as the lobby. Peering at the wooden door with the frosted glass, I was staring at the words YCNEGA EVITCETED EDAS MAPS. It was like looking at some alien code.

I could see the silhouette of a woman through the frosted window. It could have been a very well dressed man with a frilly shirt and a large hat with a bow, but my own detective powers pushed that fleeting thought out of my mind. I realized that this might be a dame who needed the help of Spam Sade.

I would have to do. My big chance.

I opened the door, and I saw what most men would think was a beautiful woman. She was crying. I knew just what to do. I acted.

“Uh, ma’am. You can get toilet paper out of the bathroom down the hall to help with your crying. My God, your mascara is running!” I was suave. Spam would be proud.

“I need your help, Mr. Sade,” she balled as she fell into my arms, weak from her misery. It must have taken all she had to get here. I had to be the gentleman.

I lowered her to the floor.

I pulled up a chair, sat down and started my first investigation.

“What seems to be the problem, Ma’am?” I was brilliant.

“I – I’ve lost a politician,” she bellowed.

“OK, where did you last see him?”

“Down at the speakeasy. We were playing the roulette table when he disappeared.”

“Ma’am,” I said in my coolest, calmest voice. “Can I have your name?”

“Dr-Driget Boherty.”

“OK, Dr. Boherty…” she interrupted me. I hate that.

“No. I’m not a doctor. It’s just Driget. I was only stuttering.” She seemed bewildered. I began to wonder what kind of client this was. I was wondering if she wasn’t an escapee from the asylum.

“OK, Ms. Boherty, if that is your name. You need to pull yourself together. I’ll head down to the speakeasy to see what evidence I can dig up.”

“Oh thank you, Mr. Sade. I didn’t know where else to go!”

So this is what it was like to be a detective – vulnerable, beautiful, blubbering women seeking you out in their most desperate time of need for help. Help which they would do anything – ANYTHING – to get.

Pathetic. I knew right away this first case of mine would be my last. I’ll let Spam handle these weak females.

But first, I had to check out the speakeasy.

As I closed the door behind me, I looked at the frosted glass from the hallway. The letters finally made sense to me. After days, months and hours of studying them, they never made sense, but now I could clearly see “SPAM SADE DETECTIVE AGENCY.”

I guess I have finally graduated. Is this what they mean by having a “Private Eye?” I could finally read the detective code.